


Whispers the O'er-Fraught Heart

by firechild (cascadewaters)



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadewaters/pseuds/firechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING:  Deals with loss of a major character!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers the O'er-Fraught Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AfricanDaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/gifts).



Whispers the O’er-Fraught Heart  
By firechild  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or songs, and would never get paid for this.  
Warning: Major character death.

 

\-----

 

Kurt would never admit it, not in a million years, but his ears ached and rang. He and Rachel had just wound down from their twice-weekly sing-off and cleaning spree; okay, so it was a little weird that they went through this in the morning before work and school, but that was what worked for them. Frankly, he was a little surprised that no one else in the building and called the cops on them for disturbing the peace. Today, Rachel had belted Disney tunes and he had blasted Beatles songs… at the same time. He couldn’t honestly say who had won this round, but he was happy with how their system kept the loft clean and comfortable. Now to come up with a way to make laundry less of a hassle….

 

Of course, they had to use the lavateria six blocks away, which was a pain in the rear on the best of days, but when it was raining or hot or freezing, schlepping their properly-sorted wardrobes back and forth could take hours… which was why they’d gotten into the habit of being the last into the washers at night and the first out of the dryers the next morning, and only doing this once every two weeks, taking alternating turns. Today was Kurt’s morning to retrieve their unmentionables and other wrinkle-free items from a dryer with one basket and their other clothing from two of the washers with another basket; he also needed to stop somewhere to pick up some hanging line and clips because Rachel’s stupid ‘on-trend’ studded dress had broken their drying rack. He’d told her four times that he could make her a better dress with lighter studs and matching boot covers, in whatever color she chose, but she’d insisted that the one she’d gotten from NYATA’s props sale was perfect. Riiiiiight. So now their drying rack (which was really his drying rack) was splintered, her dress was fine but his favorite cardie had a huge hole just over the pocket, and *he* had to take the time and money to finish the laundry run and get stuff to hang their wet things? Yeah, this blew. 

 

Construction had his usual sidewalk route blocked off, so he detoured with a frustrated sigh, and discovered, to his pleasant surprise, that the detour went right by a new dollar store. His mother had loved these places, both the chain stores and the hole-in-the-walls, and though Kurt himself used to eschew such places as tacky, he’d discovered that New York boasted a ton of them, and given his current financial situation, they were now his friends. Perhaps because it was still relatively shiny and new, this one was clean, and the three employees in green polos actually smiled and seemed happy to help; for less than five dollars, in less than five minutes, he had enough nylon twine and colored clips to take care of their current needs, plus a little bag of black licorice, which he kind of liked and which had the added perk of a smell that would drive Rachel up a wall.

 

He was stringing drying lines and his ears were still ringing when he went to answer the knock at the loft door; he slid open the heavy door, and his internal monologue stuttered to a halt as he gave one of Rachel’s dads a baffled smile. The tall man nodded and greeted him somberly, asking if Rachel was home, and Kurt came back to his senses and told him that she had already left for NYATA… and was even more surprised, when Mr. Berry left for the school, to see Sam waiting patiently in the hall, thumbs in his back pockets. Kurt gestured for Sam to step inside, but the blond boy suggested that Kurt come for a walk with him, saying that he wanted to stretch his legs after the drive from Lima. 

 

Kurt was puzzled, but he agreed, if only to find out why Sam would drive from Ohio to New York, apparently overnight. He grabbed his phone, shot off a quick text to Isabelle to expect him to be late, and led his friend to the stairwell. He asked where Sam wanted to go, and the younger boy shrugged one shoulder and, to Kurt’s surprise, asked to go someplace quiet, where Kurt felt comfortable, and not too far from the apartment. It only took Kurt a few seconds to decide, and then he led Sam out of the building and about half a block to the right, through an eight-foot wooden privacy gate, and into a small community garden nestled between buildings. The garden itself was a work in progress, but someone had donated a couple of mismatched benches, one of which was actually a sparkly red vinyl four-spot bench seat rumored to have come from a rock group’s tour bus. Kurt flopped down on one end of the seat, and for all of his talk about walking off the long hours in the car, Sam eased onto the other end, turning so that he sat not-quite-sideways, leaning his lanky form over his left leg while his right knee bounced slightly, sporadically, between his own spot and Kurt’s. 

 

“Soooooo…” Kurt said, “what’s up? What’s got you driving to glamorous Flatbush at 7:30 on a weekday morning?” A thought occurred to him. “Do your parents know that you’re not at school? Does Mr. Shue?”

 

Sam quirked his not-quite-a-smile at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, dude, I’m clear. I actually didn’t drive—Mr. Berry was fine with me coming along, but he wouldn’t let me spell him. Sounded just like my dad: ‘I’m fine, it’s all fine, I’ve got this, you just get some sleep.’ Parents, huh? They tell us to grow up and they teach us to drive so we can haul around their groceries and other kids and stuff, but then when it counts, they just want us to go to bed like good little kids.” 

 

Kurt chuckled a little, picturing the scene. It made sense that Sam wouldn’t fly, since airfare was probably way more than his family could afford even now, though riding with Rachel’s dad seemed random, and coming in on a Thursday morning seemed even more random. He peered at his friend, and finally noticed that the younger boy looked… drawn. Sam was paler than normal under his blond hair, and his eyes looked dull, drained of most of their color, rimmed in red and weighed down by dark circles. The first frissons of alarm shivered through Kurt as he sat up straighter. “Sam, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything, right?” He couldn’t imagine why Sam would have come all the way here to talk to him rather than relying on friends at home, but Kurt was ready to be there for him. 

 

Sam took a long, deep breath, looked toward one of the brick walls of the garden and rubbed the side of his neck, and blew out that deep breath over several beats before drawing his gaze back to Kurt. “So the other night, there was this party at U of L—one of those summer-school mixer things where everyone is invited—and even though half the people there were underage, of course someone brought kegs and stuck a couple of kids on pour duty. 

 

“And it would have been just a pretty normal college party, if someone hadn’t decided that it’d be real funny to lace the bottoms of some of the cups with heroin and pass them out to random kids. And it still might’ve not been a total tragedy if that heroin hadn’t been from a bad batch.” Sam looked away, blinking with his fist against his mouth for a moment, before resuming his position and his story, though he was still gazing at the wall. “Six kids are in critical condition, and three…” He sighed. “Three of them didn’t make it. The combination of alcohol and heroin was just… poison. They were gone before the paramedics even got there, and that was only after someone realized that something was really wrong and smashed the stereo so that he could get someone to listen to him.”

 

Kurt winced in sympathy, and his voice was soft. “That’s awful, Sam. I’m sorry for those kids, and their families. I’m curious, though—why come to me? I mean, not that I mind at all! You know I’m always here for you. It’s just, I’m surprised that you’re not talking to Finn about this. Did you two have a fight or something?”

 

Sam turned his face to look at Kurt, something so sad behind his eyes. “That is why I’m here, Kurt; it’s just not something you say over the phone.” He sat up, drawing in his resolve. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m so sorry.” Kurt sucked in a breath, goose bumps rising on his flesh. He was suddenly sure that he didn’t want to hear this. “One of the kids at that party was Finn. He got one of the laced cups.”

 

Kurt was shaking his head, his eyes wide, and he rose from the ridiculous vinyl seat without even realizing it. “But he’s okay, right? I mean, of course he is, he’s fine, Dad would have called me…”

 

Sam looked up at Kurt, keeping his voice soft and as steady as he could manage. “Burt would have been here with you, but he can’t leave Finn’s mom right now. Kurt, I’m so sorry; Finn… he didn’t make it. He was one of the three.”

 

Kurt would have no clear memory later of what happened over the following few hours; after the first moments of his new reality, the whole world seemed strangely out-of-phase, like it had missed a beat and a half. He knew that Sam walked him back to the loft, though how much time passed in the garden was anyone’s guess. He knew that at some point, Rachel came in, and they locked eyes, but she didn’t run to him and he didn’t run to her; it was as if somehow they both knew that if they touched, they’d shatter, and they couldn’t afford that. He packed, but he didn’t pay much attention to the particulars, relying on his instincts to choose appropriate things. He and Rachel both moved around in a wordless daze, like the air had turned to slow-setting cement. Neither of them felt like eating or drinking, though Mr. Berry insisted that they have a snack and walk around for a few minutes at the halfway point. Kurt supposed that he must have let Isabelle know where he was going, but he couldn’t manage to care. It wasn’t just that nothing made sense in those hours; it was that there was no sense to make. Kurt kept waiting to see Finn, to hear his brother’s voice, kept waiting for the older boy to come and fix things. 

 

When Mr. Berry dropped him off at the house, with a nod from Sam and a wave from Rachel, and he opened the unlocked front door to see his father pacing at the foot of the stairs, Kurt croaked, “Where is he?” The roughness of his voice reminded him that he hadn’t spoken since he’d been in the garden with Sam.

 

Burt looked at him, earnest face crumpling with sympathy and tenderness much as it had when he’d had to tell his little boy that Mama wouldn’t be coming home. “Oh, baby, c’mere,” he said, and strode forward to wrap Kurt in a hug that lifted the boy off of his feet in the gentlest kind of way, and undid him in a way that no one else’s arms could have done. 

 

The next days passed in a an oddly music-less montage of loving on Carol and getting love and support in return, avoiding the bedroom next to his, ignoring the electronics, sweeping up his dad’s tire shop, answering all phone calls with “No comment,” answering a detective’s questions about Finn’s nonexistent history with drugs, throwing his mother’s ceramic goose cookie jar at the kitchen wall when he realized that the police thought that someone might have murdered his brother and three others (the fourth died Friday morning) intentionally, and trying not to think about attending his big brother’s memorial service. After the shooting at McKinley, Mr. Shue had urged all of the glee club kids to draft simple wills, as much for catharsis as anything else, and it turned out that Finn had done so, as well: he’d willed his miniscule savings to his mother, his music collection to the glee club, his clothes to the local homeless shelter, and various trinkets to his friends. He’d asked to be cremated but hadn’t specified what to do with his ashes; he’d left letters for a few people, including Kurt, Rachel, Carol, Burt, Mr. Shue, Puck, Sam, Artie, and Blaine. Kurt was putting off reading his, and he was avoiding his friends, who were kind enough to not try to push him into seeing them.

 

And then Sunday afternoon came, and Kurt found himself dressed for Finn’s service, with no memory of getting ready and no clear idea of why he’d chosen the pressed blue jeans and plain red t-shirt from the back of his old closet. The clothes seemed ridiculous for such an occasion, but he didn’t want to change, so he grabbed a black blazer, deciding that no one but Carol had the right to object. Carol didn’t even seem to see his outfit when he got downstairs, so he just went with it. 

 

Knowing that it was short notice, they’d planned the memorial for the smaller of the two chapels at the funeral home, and figured that they’d grab fast food on the way home afterward, something cheap so that they wouldn’t waste a lot of money not tasting anything. Burt didn’t want Carol having to answer a bunch of questions and dodge looks, so he got them to the funeral home just about five minutes before the service was to start…

 

…and found lots of people standing around in the common area outside the two chapels. A couple of people nodded to the Hummels, and one of them looked vaguely familiar to Kurt. At first, Kurt just figured that there must be another service and maybe a viewing going on in other rooms, and he idly wondered who else had died and if he should have known about it. Finally, the little family got through the crowd and the white double doors.

 

The small chapel was packed, and people who didn’t have seats were standing in the side aisles. It wasn’t until he recognized some of the former football players that Kurt realized that the crowd out in the common area was overflow.

 

Finn had never seen himself as outstanding; if only he could see that his memorial service was standing-room-only.

 

Kurt sat with his family in the front, tucked under one of Burt’s arms and holding one of Carol’s hands across Burt’s lap, and no one questioned that decision, but he did see several familiar faces before the director took the podium and the crowd settled down.

 

The service was nice; Kurt wouldn’t speak, but when the director opened the podium to whoever wanted it, several people did: Coach Biest tearfully recalled Finn’s leadership on and off the football field; a classmate from the university told a funny story about class notes and drumsticks; Becky said that had expected the big football player to be just another mean boy, but that he’d rescued her once from a couple of bullies from a rival football team and that he, more than anyone else, he’d shown her how a person could be so much more than expected; Mr. Shue tried to speak but couldn’t get past Finn’s name, and Emma stood up to go to him, but Coach Sylvester beat her to the podium and read Mr. Shue’s notes about seeing something in someone who saw something in others; and Burt talked about forgiveness and about being meant to share parts of life with certain people, even if only for a little time. None of the glee kids, the loudest people he knew, got up to speak. 

 

Oddly, if there was any music, Kurt didn’t notice it.

 

After the service ended, he stood with Burt and Carol in the receiving line, just trying to bear down and hold on through all of the nods and shoulder squeezes and murmured platitudes, knowing that people meant well enough but really had no idea what Kurt was feeling—probably because Kurt really had no idea what Kurt was feeling, either. He was very surprised to see Karofsky and his parents, from a distance; it struck him as nice, though, rather than making him angry or nervous. One of the detectives stood in the back of the chapel but didn’t approach anyone, and just gave Kurt a nod when their eyes met. From the start of the day to the end of the service, Kurt didn’t say anything but “thank you,” and even that took conscious effort each time.

 

The whole thing was nice enough, but a rebellious part of Kurt still felt that it was all pointless.

 

And then it was over, and he was thinking about going back to the house and not thinking, but he didn’t get that far—he looked down to make sure that Carol hadn’t left anything on their pew, and when he looked up, he was surrounded, along with Burt and Carol, and the thought came unbidden to his mind that after all the rest had left, only those who mattered remained. The Shuesters insisted on taking Burt and Carol out to eat, a meal with no pressure to answer questions or pretend that anything was okay, the glee kids (past and present) said the same to Kurt, and no one would take ‘no’ for an answer. Kurt gave in only when Carol did, got bundled into a car, and found himself at Breadsticks a few minutes later. Somehow, the dining area was empty, and someone persuaded the owner to flip the closed sign so that the group could eat and talk without feeling awkward.

 

It was June, but there was a cold front going through, and Rachel wore a long black jacket; in fact, most everyone was in a jacket or sweater. Kurt’s eyes tripped over Blaine, who wore a black blazer and a scarf, and who hadn’t come near him. An ache flashed through Kurt at that; he’d known that Blaine wanted to ask him something, but the timing hadn’t yet worked out, and now that they were started to find something approaching an even keel again between them, Kurt was surprised that his ex hadn’t tried to speak to him at all. In fact, Blaine wasn’t speaking to anyone, or looking at anyone, and kept glancing between the men’s room and the exit door as if trying to decide whether he was going to throw up or make a run for it. Kurt quietly asked Sam about it, and the younger boy took his arm and maneuvered him into a chair before answering.

 

"Kurt, Blaine… he didn’t want to come. He wouldn’t have, if we hadn’t made him. He doesn’t think he deserves to be with us.” At Kurt’s incredulous look, Sam sadly explained, “Finn didn’t go to that party by himself; he took Blaine to be his wingman, since Puck was in Cincinnati with Jake. Blaine was the one who realized that there was something wrong with Finn and some of the others. He shouted for help, but no one paid him any attention; he’s wearing a scarf because he couldn’t get a signal on his cell and when he tried to use the landline to call the cops, one of the college kids hit him with a busted Everclear bottle. He got the call out anyway, and then he went back to Finn and wouldn’t leave him. He tried to do CPR, but it didn’t work; he thinks he did it wrong. Kurt, Blaine thinks it’s his fault that Finn…” Sam trailed off, rubbing his mouth, clearly in pain for his friends as much as for himself. Kurt squeezed Sam’s forearm in thanks and then took himself across the room, stood over Blaine until the younger boy finally looked up at him, pulled Blaine to his feet, and wrapped him in a long hug while Blaine protested and apologized and finally shut up and clung to him, sobbing silently into Kurt’s shoulder. By the time Kurt led Blaine by the hand back to where Sam had saved a pair of seats for them, Blaine seemed slightly less apt to bolt, Kurt felt slightly more present, and everyone had baskets of hot breadsticks. Sam ordered mushroom alfredo for their table, and Kurt glanced around to see his dad and Carol at a table in the back with the Shuesters. 

 

Everyone took some time to eat, and while no one seemed enthusiastic about it, at least it wasn’t quite such a chore, maybe because the whole ‘family’ was together. Rachel was sitting with the Puckerman boys, Santana sat with Brittany and Kitty and Mercedes, and the others had clustered around tables in predictable combinations to which Kurt didn’t really pay much attention, mostly because his eyes were tired of picking out individual people. The restaurant was remarkably quiet, considering the clientele, but no one felt pressured to do or say or feel anything in particular, and no one was going to judge what was said. And somewhere around his third breadstick, it occurred to Kurt that this was the family that Finn had helped to make.

 

Kurt was surprised, after a while, to hear notes picked out slowly on the piano on the stage, and even more surprised to look up and see Rory doing the picking. He hadn’t even realized that the Irish boy had come; last Kurt had heard, Rory had one more year of high school somewhere in Galway, a school with no choir or music program at all. How much did it cost to fly last-minute from Ireland to Ohio? Well, whatever the cost or the circumstances, Kurt was glad enough to see the glee club’s ‘leprechaun’ again, though he didn’t recognize what the boy was playing.

 

He wasn’t the only one. Sam raised his voice to carry across the room to the stage and asked what song it was, and Rory looked up and flinched like he’d been shocked. He stood up and apologized, but Kurt realized that he suddenly didn’t hate the idea of a little music; he glanced back at Carol and saw that she looked teary but not disturbed, so he and the other kids assured Rory that it was okay for him to play. The boy still looked abashed, but he slowly resumed his seat and studied the keys as if he couldn’t think of what he wanted to play.

 

After a few minutes and some soft, random sections of music, the odd tension fractured when Puck stood and, after a moment of hesitation, went over to the stage, looked behind Rory, and leaned over, standing back up with a guitar. He strapped it on and checked the tuning as he slowly turned back to face the room; he scanned the audience and cleared his throat a couple of times, rubbing his thumb and forefinger down his nose and sucking in a breath before he spoke. 

 

“So, Finn… he was my best friend, you know? He was like, well,” he glanced quickly at Jake, “he was like my brother. And the other night, he needed me, and I wasn’t there for him; I keep thinking, you know, maybe if I had been…” He trailed off.

 

“You might’ve gotten sick, too. You might’ve died. Or you’d have just had to live with being there and not being able to save him. Because once someone gave him that crap, no one could save him.” Burt’s voice was firm, and that last sentence had been directed as much at Blaine as at Puck. “You were right where you were supposed to be, Noah. It was okay to want to be with Jake, and it was okay for Jake to want you with him. There’s nothing wrong with that. Finn knew that, we all know that. It’s okay, son.”

 

For a few beats, the only sound in the room was Blaine’s small gasping sob; Kurt pulled Blaine up under his arm, so that the younger boy’s head rested on Kurt’s shoulder, and he rubbed Blaine’s other arm and thought about how much he loved the man his father was. 

 

Puck stared at a floor tile for a moment while he got a grip on his control again, and then he looked up at the people in the room and said, “I was flipping around on the radio in the car on the way to Cincinnati last Sunday, and there was nothin’ but country and some sort of preaching stuff, till I finally landed on this random station, and I hadn’t heard this song in years until they played it. Anyway, this is the first song I’ve thought of, and the first time I’ve even thought of any music, since I got the call about Finn, so… here it is.” He turned and murmured something to Rory, who nodded, and the two started to play, improvising with the piano on one of the guitar parts. Puck opened his mouth but wasn’t ready to get the words out at the end of the intro, and Rory must have seen or sensed it, because they just repeated the intro a couple more times before Puck started to sing Creed’s “Stand Here With Me.” 

 

As he found the groove of the song, Puck’s voice got steadier, but he was still visibly battling to keep it together; after the first few lines, his brother grabbed a chair and slipped over to the stage, settling in to provide backup vocals and percussion on the chair as he sat. The choice of song hit a chord with so many of the kids that they were both weeping and clapping along well before the end. When the music faded, they applauded, yelling encouragement and thanks to Puck and the other two boys. Puck turned and gave Jake a hand to stand up, then pulled him into a hug with the back of the turned-around chair between them. The brothers (and the chair) went back to their table, and were soon replaced by Mercedes, who said that she and Finn hadn’t spent a lot of time just hanging out, but that he’d been the first to entrust her with a job for the glee club. She sang Mariah Carey’s “One Sweet Day” with help from several of the girls at their seats. 

 

One of Mercedes’ backup singers, Unique, openly wept as she said that Finn was brave enough to let her be who she was, regardless of the backlash to him, and that he cared about both being true to his students and keeping them safe, and that she was glad that he was there to save the club that was sometimes her only reason for getting up in the morning. She started Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly” a cappella, and smiled damply when Rory’s piano and Mercedes, Santana, Brittany, and Kitty joined her.

 

Artie went next, rolling over to the stage and expecting to just sit in front of it, but grateful when Rory and Ryder jumped up and lifted his chair onto the stage. He told the group that Finn hadn’t just taken Mr. Shue’s dream and made it happen: Finn had chosen to make something happen in himself first, and while that transformation had been a process, Artie knew that the glee club’s becoming more than each of its members had been before was an extension of Finn believing in each of them. He knew this, he said, because he’d been there the moment the change had started—the moment when a star quarterback and stereotypical jock had decided to be the kind of person who would rescue a disabled nerd at the expense of his own reputation and comfort. Artie let that sit for a moment before he promised that he wasn’t going to sing ‘Over the Rainbow’ (there was applause and even a smattering of weak laughter at that;) his rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” from Toy Story garnered as many smiles as tears.

 

After helping Artie off the stage, Ryder slipped over to the Puckerman table, whispering to Jake, who nodded and toted his chair up to the stage yet again, following his own best friend. Ryder grabbed the guitar and whispered something to Rory, who gave a quick nod and shrug. Ryder told everyone that Finn had seen him in a way almost no one else would have, had seen beyond grades and attitude and low self-esteem; Jake added that Finn had given him two best friends and brothers, one by blood and one by choice. And then Ryder and Jake (and Jake’s turned-backward chair) launched into an improvised, rocked-up version of ABBA’s “He Is Your Brother,” with occasional improv from Rory on the piano, and had most of the audience clapping along or at least swaying. 

 

Nearly everyone from the club, past and present, chose to do a solo or duet, and nearly everyone did backup on at least a couple of numbers. Kurt didn’t sing along and he noticed that Rachel didn’t, either. He hadn’t found the right song. He hadn’t found his voice yet.

 

But she did. In a lull after Tina’s turn, Rachel stood up and the room went from hushed to silent. She hesitated, smoothing her skirt, then shrugged out of her coat, revealing… a plain red t-shirt. Kurt almost laughed. Rachel made her way up to the stage with her eyes on the floor in front of her feet, and it took her a few seconds to look up once she’d gotten to the microphone. She glanced over the room, stopping at Kurt, and he wasn’t sure what she was looking for, so he just gave her an encouraging nod. That seemed to do it for her, because she pulled herself together and said that she had loved Finn and always would, that he had been her first love, but more than that, he’d been reason enough for her to look beyond the end of her own nose. She said that she couldn’t really imagine a world without him yet, and didn’t really want to, and she thanked everyone for being part of the house that Finn built. Then she started singing Leann Rimes’ “Probably Wouldn’t Be This Way,” and Sam got up and got the guitar and helped her get through the rest of the song, with Marley softly harmonizing on the choruses. Rachel finally came apart at the end of the song, just a quiet fragmenting, a surrendering of the strings she’d held so tightly around herself for days, and Quinn and Mercedes helped her back to her seat and stayed with her.

 

Sam stayed where he was with the guitar; he’d already done a song of his own, but now he was looking toward his table, and he gently called Blaine’s name and wouldn’t look away until the other boy finally caved and shuffled up to the stage. Sam put his arm around Blaine’s shoulders and reminded everyone that Blaine had been with Finn in those last moments, had done more than anyone else, and had made sure that Finn wasn’t alone. Blaine looked like he very much wanted the stage to swallow him, but Sam quietly said that it was Blaine’s turn, to say or sing whatever he knew to be right at that moment, and everyone waited patiently while Blaine stared through the floor and thought about it. Sam stayed with him, supporting him, as Blaine said hoarsely that Finn had been human and had made mistakes like anyone else, but that Blaine would always be sorry for not being able to save Finn the way Finn had saved so many of them in one way or another. After a couple of shuddering breaths, he started to sing, had to start over a couple of times to get a decent tone, but caught everyone else’s breath with OneRepublic’s “All Fall Down.” He faltered a bit when Sam let go and stepped away from him, but he hadn’t looked up yet, so he didn’t know that Sam was only making room for Burt and Carol, who came up on stage and bracketed Blaine. He was so moved by the obvious forgiveness and absolution, and by Carol’s whisper of thanks for being there with her son, that Sam finished the song from behind the little group.

 

Sam was escorting Blaine back to the table when Mr. Shue drew attention away from the boys by asking Rory what it was he’d been picking out at the beginning; Rory blushed and said that it didn’t matter, that he was pretty sure no one would know it and that he hadn’t figured on singing anyway, but the teacher gently encouraged him to let them hear it anyway, and said that Rory had been part of Finn’s life and would always be part of the glee family. Rory blushed harder at that, but he slowly started to play, a soft tune with just a few simple layers. Over his playing, he said that he’d come to McKinley looking for some fun, and that he’d found much more: friends, a place to belong, a chance to challenge himself, and the big brother he’d never realized he wanted. He admitted that he and Finn had talked a few times after Rory’s return to Ireland, and that Finn had continued to encourage and challenge and tease him like an older brother. He said that he wasn’t sure he really had a right to feel so bereft, but he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t, so he’d cleaned out his savings and gotten on a plane without giving his parents a chance to say no. Then he swallowed whatever else he’d meant to say and started to play a bit louder, and to sing Chapman and Coulter’s “Bird Without Wings.” He’d been mostly right—none of the kids knew the song; but at the part written for an older singer, Mr. Shue chimed in from his seat with soft humming, and sang the support lines toward the end. Rory scrubbed at his face when the song was over.

 

And then Mr. Shue walked up to the stage and sang, a cappella, Tim McGraw’s “My Old Friend,” saying that Finn had started out as a promising student and had become a friend and surrogate younger brother, and would always be special to him. 

 

Kurt hadn’t expected this, but as Mr. Shue sat down, Kurt stood up, not really knowing until he got to the stage that he had found his voice, and his song. He conferred with Rory and then turned to face his friends, his family, and simply said, “I want my big brother back.” He sang Coldplay’s “Talk,” and when he finished, he was exhausted. Everyone he passed on his way back to his table reached out to touch his hand or arm or shoulder, just in passing. He slumped down into his seat, and this time it was Blaine giving him strength and support. 

 

The hush resumed, murmured conversations mingling with silence as everyone worked through their emotions and their cheesecake, a gift from the owner. They were all wiped out, but no one was really ready to leave, to go out in the sheeting rain that had started without any of them noticing. Someone turned on the karaoke machine, just to see what was on it, and dialed through a bunch of songs, listening to first verses before skipping to the next tracks. At one point, the machine started spewing “Don’t Stop Believing,” and the karaoke operator turned off the song after just the first line, while the original members of New Directions looked at each other with wide, pained eyes. Whoever it was finally switched off the machine, and the hush fell again…

 

…until Joe very quietly started to sing Perren and Yarian’s “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday.” By ones and twos and fours the rest joined in, and Kurt didn’t think it was possible for anyone in the room to not be as covered in goose bumps as he was well before the end of the song. 

 

Five months later (because it had taken that long for the diva squad to come to a consensus on what to do with Finn’s ashes,) Kurt stood with the other members of the New Directions, as many as could manage to be home for Thanksgiving, surrounding a tiny new courtyard in front of the high school. A new sidewalk circled a transplanted sapling that would one day be a fragrant fir; that sidewalk, and the concrete benches that dotted the outside of the circle, were covered in words that he and his friends had just finished writing into the still-soft substance: single words like ‘courage’ and ‘honor’ and ‘acceptance,’ and lyrics like ‘I wanna see you be brave’ and ‘This is your time,’ and affirmations to future students. In the gaps between benches, while still leaving room enough to pass through, rested statues of the major elements of McKinley society: a football, an eighth note, a chess piece, a bullhorn, a gavel, an empty portrait frame. Most of Finn’s ashes were mixed into the concrete, though a portion had been set aside and would be interred at the soon-to-be-built New Directions Camp about an hour from Lima. Most of the camp project had been paid for through donations from private citizens and small lay groups; a settlement from the civil suit against the people who had served alcohol and heroin to minors had made up the rest of the camp costs for building and a couple of years’ operation, plus Finn’s cremation and final taxes. The camp would encourage leadership, teamwork, and positive ways to end bullying, with sports and music and science and visual arts electives. Some of the glee club kids had already signed on as counselors for the coming summer and were talking about ways to provide activities during the other seasons to help kids for whom summer might not come soon enough to save them from terrible choices.

 

Not having Finn there still ached, much more intensely than Kurt might have expected, but as he started to turn away from the gathering, the young man thought of how seriously Finn had taken his vow to protect Kurt (even, at one point, from their parents,) and he smiled into the sharp breeze. He didn’t get more than a couple of steps, though, before he heard the singing; he didn’t know who’d started it, but Leona Lewis’ “Better In Time” was spreading like a warming fire through the group, and despite himself, Kurt turned around, dropped his concrete-caked nitrile glove into the little trash can as it came around to him, put his hands in his coat pockets, and let the words wash over him. By the middle of the song, he was singing, too, and though the ache was still very much there, it no longer felt like it took up absolutely every corner of his soul.

 

And neither did the silence.

 

 

 

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare


End file.
